The Little Things
by Ariyah
Summary: Scott has several reasons for disliking jail. Some bigger than others, but it's the little things that matter most. One-shot, post- airport battle, CW. By Ariel of Narnia.


**Disclaimer:** I'm not inspired enough to come up with the source material on my own, so credit where credit is due.

 **Thank-you to:** Elanorelle (Hobbit of Narnia, on ff) and Kristi for critiquing for me! And again to Elanorelle for titling this for me, because I'm not inspired enough to come up with halfway-decent titles.

 **Dedication:** to Elanorelle, who not only shares my fandoms but is willing to deal with my crazy plot-bunny ideas when they suddenly interrupt our conversations. ;-)

* * *

Scott hated being behind bars for several reasons. First, there was absolutely nothing to do. At least in a regular prison, he'd have a cellmate, the cafeteria, and a library. But not on The Raft. Here, he had an empty space all to himself and the freedom to do absolutely anything… with nothing whatsoever. Not even a wad of paper to toss around.

Hawkeye – say, was he allowed to be on a first-name basis? – was the first one they interrogated. That was when Scott noticed that the cells were equipped with electronic noise-cancellers – what speech he could hear besides his own was reduced to a soft mumble. Which really sucked, because what view he got from behind the glass was not enough to prepare him for his own questioning. That scared him. Sure, he'd gone through this twice before. Just not _this_ : the whole superhero in the super-slammer thing. He forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed and relax – somewhat –, all the while wondering how the others were handling it.

"The others." The three Avengers stuck here with him. Had any of them gone through this before? Or something like it? Did the Falcon and Hawkeye have training for this sort of thing with the military and SHIELD? Why wasn't the Scarlet Witch in the same cell block as the rest of them? Was she okay? Not that any of those answers would do him good. But the more he thought about "the others", the more he realized he wasn't really thinking of _them_ anymore. No, no, "the others"…. This was another thing he hated about prison. Way worse than his first reason. How _were_ the others handling it?

Hank was going to kill him, he had no doubt about that. All of Hank's careful years of keeping his research out of anyone else's hands, down the drain because of Scott. He groaned and tried to think of something less depressing.

Luis would have cheered him up, after frustrating the living daylights out of him first. If Scott had landed himself into a normal prison again, Luis would call and sympathize in his own, quirky way. But this wasn't a normal prison. There was no way Luis would get through to him here and, whether he admitted it now or not, he'd miss Luis' cheerful, fast-talking gibberish soon enough.

Though not as much as he was already missing Cassie. Would she worry when he didn't show up for dinner on Monday? Would she find out he was in jail again? What would she think? What would Paxton and Maggie think? Would their opinion affect hers? What if she –

Scott jumped at the knock on the glass. The guy who stood on the other side was not the Secretary of Defence – what'd they call him? Thunderhead Ross? ah, who cared? Anyway, he was younger and less imposing. Scott wasn't sure if the gun on the guy's hip was there as a show of force or because he really thought he might need it. The glass was thick and bulletproof, so what was the point? He got to his feet.

"Name?" the interrogator snapped.

"Sco-" Scott cleared the frog from his throat. "Scott Lang."

So began the barrage of questions. Address? Occupation? Names of associates? Access to highly volatile materials? Connection to the Avengers? to Steve Rogers, aka Captain America? Nature of involvement? Record of activities? It was all Scott could do to make sure he didn't say anything stupid. Finally, the audio switched off again and the interrogator left Scott to himself. Exhausted, he flopped down on the thin mattress that obligingly reminded him of his bruises.

Cassie... Scott didn't tell the guy that he was with Cassie the night Luis told him that the Falcon was looking for him. The same night Hawkeye came to pick him up and brought him up to speed. The very night that landed him… here. He could still see Cassie's disappointed eyes watching him leave, even though her smile told him that she wouldn't hold it against him. How about now? How long would it be till he saw her again? When would she memorize that piano piece? Would she get her ears pierced without him? How big would she be when he got out – if he did?

That was the worst possible thing about jail: Could he handle a second separation from her?

Scott told himself to get a grip and not think about the rather depressing future ahead of him.

So he closed his eyes and let his mind travel back a couple weeks. Cassie, all cuddled up under his arm, the ugly bunny he'd bought her contrasting weirdly with the Frozen pajamas she wore. Just the two of them enjoying some quality time alone, watching one of her favourite movies: _Finding Nemo_.

His eyes popped open. Of all the memories to look back to, he just had to think of _that_ movie? He'd already lived through it, sort of. Different circumstances, but he still related to the clownfish – Merlin? no, Marlin. Cassie, on the other hand, loved Dory: she quoted most of her lines, cracked up at her antics, and spoke in "whale" for a good fifteen minutes after the movie. Scott could almost hear the dual audio now: _"Weeeeeee neee-eeed toooooo fiiiiind his soooo-uun."_ His favourite part, though, was when the two fish swam down into the darkness and Dory forgot about Marlin and asked –

Scott suddenly chuckled. So _that_ was where he got inspiration to joke about being Iron Man's long-silent conscience! He'd have to thank Cassie for that. If and when he ever got out. He let out a long sigh and lay there for a minute longer before nervous energy took the better of him and started him pacing.

 _"There, there. It's alright. It'll be okay."_

Not even a day in this place and he was already hearing Cassie's fish talking to him. He rubbed his hands down his face. Maybe he wasn't going crazy yet. Just tired. And sore. And bored brainless. He sat down on the little stool in the corner and bounced his knees.

 _"Hey there, Mr. Grumpy Gills. When life gets you down, you know what you gotta do?"_

Oh, no, not that nonsense song. He didn't need that driving him insane.

 _"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim, swim…."_

But it wasn't the fish's voice anymore. It was Cassie's, as she played in the bath Scott had poured for her. He remembered standing on the other side of the door, just listening to her splash about and sing to her toys.

That was what he'd looked forward to during his first stint in jail. What he feared he'd lose when that lunatic Darren Cross set foot in her room. What he fought to protect when he agreed to ally himself with Captain America.

Scott felt a new energy surge in his chest and tingle through the rest of him. Just like a certain clownfish, he'd press on through anything to get his daughter back.

"Yo, Tic-Tac!" The Falcon's voice broke through his thoughts. That meant exterior sound was restored, and that meant that interrogation had to be over.

"Yeah?"

"We're trying to have a conversation here."

Only then did Scott realize that he had been drumming against the rim of the stool. "Sorry." He pushed himself up and returned to his bed, hearing the other two talk, but not paying any attention.

"Scott."

Wow. First-name basis it was. "Yeah, Sam?"

"Shut up."

Scott may have stopped humming, but Cassie's voice sang on in his heart.

* * *

 **Author's note:** This is what happens when all I wanted was an explanation for Scott's _Finding Nemo_ reference... :-P

Please review!


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